Recipe for Disaster
Recipe for Disaster As the clock struck past midnight, Officer Jenkins sat in his office chair, feasting away on a jelly filled donut. Hand clutching the wireless mouse on his desk, he scrolled down the electronic profile of DeAndre Thorton, a criminal he had spent the last few years of his life chasing. But chase him he would no longer, for Thorton had been arrested several days ago under multiple charges. The hefty man shifted in his seat, leaning back and huffing soundly. It was finally over. He had succeeded in detaining the most wanted man in all of Karakura Town. His desk was filled with several reports and endless files on DeAndre, covering the man's reputed JBL career and subsequent popularity as a hip-hop artist. Dozens of donut boxes --most empty, others half full-- were piled on top of one another around all the papers. Officer Jenkins took one of these documents into one of his hands, the other digging into a nearby donut box. He stuffed the donut into his mouth, holding it between his teeth as he flipped through the document with both hands; inscribed within was the narrative of DeAndre's time as a member of the Karakura Town professional basketball team, including his individual statistics and accomplishments. Knock, knock. Officer Jenkins turned around to identify his visitor. It was Mr. Hanks, a psychologist who had been hired by the Karakura Police Department to aid them in their understanding of DeAndre. "Mr. Hanks, please, come in." Mr. Hanks walked into the room, laying his briefcase along the desk and cracking it open. "I wished to meet with Mr. Thorton for some time alone to further my research, so long as that's alright with you." He retrieved the documents Officer Jenkins had been preparing for him and stowed them away into his briefcase. "It's a bit late, don't you think? You sure your wife won't be upset with you?" Officer Jenkins chuckled. "What's the rush, anyway? He's sentenced to life. He'll be here for the rest of eternity." "Yes, you make a fair point. Even so, I won't be able to sleep tonight without testing a theory of mine." Officer Jenkins sighed. He stood up to his feet, the seat snapping back into place beneath him. "Very well, then. Come along, now." The cop snatched a set of keys off the desk and led Mr. Hanks out his office, through a hallway, down a flight of steps, and into basement cellars, where DeAndre was being held. DeAndre was laying on the ground, his arms over his head and his hands cuffed together. He was wearing orange colored prisoner garbs to go along with white shoes. He remained laying even as the door to his cell swung open and Officer Jenkins walked in alongside Mr. Hanks. "Rise and shine, sherlock. You have a visitor." DeAndre sat up, slowly. It was this duo, again. Likely here to interrogate him for the hundredth time. "Greetings, Mr. Thorton." Mr. Hanks walked forward, retrieving a plastic record with an image of DeAndre laminated within. It was the cover of DeAndre's debut album as a rapper, which had been certified double platinum: Seven Seconds. Mr. Hanks offered the prisoner a black sharpie to go along with the album. "My son's a big fan of yours. Asked me if I could get you to sign this." DeAndre looked between the two of them momentarily. Then his large lips weaved into a gentle smile. "Anythin' for a fan." He signed the album and handed it back. "Swell. Now shall we delve into the meat of the matter?" Mr. Hanks sat down on a folding chair, crossing his leg over the other and propping open his briefcase over his lap. DeAndre furrowed his brow. This man was honestly asking him to rat out his fellow gang members. He was the leader of Hell's Legion, a drug cartel that was Karakura's premier cocaine supplier. If he thought he was really going to sell his guys short, he had another thing coming. "Tell me what I want to know and you can have this back." The psychologist retrieved a small, plastic three pronged toy from his suitcase and spun it around his index finger. It seemed to carry some sort of significance for DeAndre, as his eyes lit up at the mere sight of it. "..." DeAndre started to shiver. His body began to tremble and shake of its own accord, refusing to listen to him. That fidget spinner was his cure, lest he lose himself to his own madness. Seeing it now for the first time in days brought him to recall humbler times... Born Among the Flames The cries of a newly born child bombarded down the halls of the . "Hold still... hold still, you damn twerp!" The doctor grumbled, struggling to keep the baby from rolling out of his arms. The mother of the child, Tanya, was laying weakly in bed. Due to her blood that had gone into her child, the baby had been born with a drug addiction. "Hold still, for the love of-" It took the aid of another nurse to hold down the incredibly large child long enough for the doctor to inject him with a fair dosage of the drug he had been born craving. Rather than be fed milk from his mother's mammary gland, this child was first and foremost given cocaine. The doctor injected Tanya with a different needle and set her child in her arms. She stroked his face gently. "DeAndre... my DeAndre..." Tanya held a fidget spinner between her fingertips, spinning it before DeAndre's eyes. The baby reached up with his arms, trying to snatch it. --- "Big bro, what was dad like?" It was dark outside. DeAndre, now 5 years of age, sat in the passenger seat of his older brother's beat-up car. He was getting urges again. Melo could tell just by the expression on his face. "Spin it," said Melo, "it'll help take your mind off of it." DeAndre nodded reluctantly. He spun the fidget spinner in his hand, round and round, breathing deeply so as to suppress his biological urges. He opened his eyes to the color of red and blue flashing lights. "I need to see some form of identification." The window was rolled down. A cop came to them. "That's it, get out. Out, out, out!" Melo was pressed against the door. DeAndre sat inside the car, spinning his spinner. He was much too young to understand what was going on. "You're not allowed to park in front of this grocery store. You're scaring all the people from going in; do you have any idea how much business they'll lose 'cause of you?" Shouting. DeAndre heard lots of that. Then a loud bang followed by it. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He kept spinning his spinner. --- It was hard to find work. At only ten years of age, DeAndre was counted on to support his mother financially. But it was so hard to find work at his age and especially by the way he looked. Dark alleyways. Bags of cocaine. Money in exchange. Spinning. Playing basketball. More spinning. Peeping through the neighbor's window. More spinning. Spinning, spinning, more spinning. Getting kicked out of school, then more spinning. A child of his own with an older baby mama. Joining a gang, getting tatted. Playing ball at the park, a scout walking by. Life changing... forever. Forbidden Life Mr. Hanks calmly shook his head. He scribbled away at his pad, taking note of whatever DeAndre had shared with him. He tossed the fidget spinner to the criminal. "Here. You kept your end of the deal, so I'll keep mine." DeAndre's eyes lit up. He caught the spinner between his hands and stared down at it. He looked up, glancing toward Officer Jenkins and the physiologist who was much too busy writing away. DeAndre spun the spinner with his handcuffed hands. Spinning the spinner, he pulled the soul from within the iron cuffs and the same properties appeared over his flesh. His hands and arms became infused with iron, and with some small exertion on his part, he ripped open the cuffs and freed himself. He stood up suddenly, much to the surprise of Officer Jenkins and Mr. Hanks. DeAndre raced toward Mr. Hanks, slamming his iron fist into his face; Officer Jenkins opened fire, only for his bullets to ricochet off of DeAndre's iron plated arms and bounce back at him. Category:Roleplays